


Sakura of the Red Sand

by Dovey



Category: Naruto
Genre: Dubious Morality, Found Family, petty revenge, sakura has the mokuton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 23:37:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15084230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dovey/pseuds/Dovey
Summary: Sasori hates Hatake Kakashi. He meets a young girl with reason to hate the man too, and finds the perfect opportunity for revenge.If he accidentally builds a family along the way, well. He always was exemplary at exceeding expectations.





	Sakura of the Red Sand

Sasori eyed the pink-haired idiot, openly showing her emotional weakness as she sat sobbing on a street corner. Her headband proved her a nin, even if her behavior didn’t, and he felt a curling of disdain for the village so pitiful they would take on a child like _her_ as so much as even a lowly genin. That Konoha could inflict so much damage on Suna, despite their obvious weakness, dealt a painful blow to Sasori’s esteem even now.

“Shut up.” He tells her, frustrated, and she startles at the words and then shoots him an angry glare. He can see how flawed she is as a nin even more clearly, now- no telltale signs of hard labor or injuries. Not a scar or scratch on her. Long hair that screamed overconfidence, and those tear tracks told him more than enough when it came to mental conditioning.

“ _You_ shut up, asshole!” She says, standing to her feet with a show of aggression, and really, it’s all the proof he needs that Konoha is a faltering beast of a failure, that this girl could be so unable to sense danger, to spot any of the signs of a superior nin that could easily- would easily- destroy her. It makes him wish all the more for Suna’s planned attack to succeed.

“Who on earth failed to teach you some manners, little girl?” He asks, with such a spike of killing intent it’s a wonder the girl doesn’t fall back to the ground from the strength of it.

“M-my sensei’s Hatake Kakashi, so you better not-” She tries to threaten, but falters quickly at the words, confidence gone as soon as she mentions her sensei’s name.

For a second, all Sasori sees is red. But he’s a clever man, more than he’s given credit for, and he feels something horrifying spark within him. _Empathy._ This little girl has been cursed by the Hatake clan, just as he had. Her sensei has clearly failed her in every measurable way, refused to kick her out- Kakashi has sentenced her to a painful death, much like the man’s father had once nearly done to Sasori.

He’s a believer in things that last, he is- that beauty is in eternity. But sometimes, inspiration is instantaneous, and when he’s hit with an idea that could deliver him the perfect revenge, he doesn’t hesitate to follow through with it.

“Your sensei’s not very nice to you, is he.” He says, and the girl tries to deny it.

“No, no! He’s- he just-”

“Has other priorities?” Sasori presses, and takes a stab, “Your teammates, perhaps?”

She folds, and he presses eagerly onwards. “Or maybe he just doesn’t think you’re worth the effort.”

She sniffles, and falls to the floor. Sasori fights his instincts to avoid such an emotional display, and crouches down to offer her a hand. “A useless student is a sign of a poor teacher. I think I could do a far better job, if you’re willing.”

If it was any other night, it likely wouldn’t have worked. But this was just after Sakura had lost a contest she’d put her all into, and her sensei had sent her off for a month with no advice or comfort. The sting of it- the lack of attention, and the seeming promise that things wouldn’t change in the future- drives her forward.

“Whatever it takes.” She tells him, taking his hand. “I wanna be strong!”

Perhaps she has no skills. She’s likely a civilianborn, by her dress, with no genkai or foundational training. But Sasori is a clever, powerful man, and highly motivated. If he has to rebuild her from oak to make her talented, he will. He’ll make her a god on the battlefield, and the girl failed by Jounin Hatake will carry on his legacy in the silver-haired jounin’s place.

“What’s your name, doll?” He asks, and she smiles. “Haruno Sakura, sir!”

Sakura of the red sands has a lovely ring to it.

 

They start training right away, and Sasori is delighted to discover her failures as a nin could be layed almost entirely at the feet of her instructor. It’s obvious her motivation to be a talented nin is more recent, true, but her natural abilities are nothing to scoff at, and her commitment level would be impressive even in Suna. She comes in to training every day with new bruises and burnt chakra paths, signs she’s been training even after he dismisses her. Sasori sees her push through injuries and embarrassments with no hesitation, even if she still cries when they happen. Her chakra control is exemplary, something he prides himself on encouraging her on.

He’s not used to behaving as an instructor, but he’s a master at manipulation and it’s obvious what this girl requires is a hands-on father figure type. She’s desperate for validation, and constantly turning to him for support. He squashes the instinct to send her running, demand she figure it out for herself, and reminds himself that he can’t pass on his name to a student he doesn’t teach. This girl is clearly going to grow up to be something spectacular, if she lives that long, but with his guidance he’s certain she’ll turn into something even _more_ than that. None of the Konoha cowardice, or Suna’s desperation. He’ll make her his finest piece of art, without a doubt in her bones, and he’s finding he enjoys it.

She calls him _old man,_ and while he’s never enjoyed being reminded of his mortality, he finds himself snorting at it. She’s young enough the whole world seems ancient to her. She switches to calling him Sasori-kun when he calls her a brat for it, as if he’s a fellow child and they’re schoolyard friends, and he lets her. Sometimes, people mistake them for siblings, and they both find that _hilarious-_ Sakura would descend into a fit of laughter, and Sasori would allow himself a smirk.

It’s when she’s performing an old academy exercise, to show Sasori exactly how Konoha teaches their students- and how insufferably trusting of her, how endearingly foolish to give such information to another nation, even an allied one- when he spots it.

The leaf was brown, dead, crumpled. Then, during her exercise, a sliver of it had turned a fainter orange. Sakura had paid it no mind, likely not even noticing, but Sasori did not believe in coincidences.

He stops her, and demands she focus on something else. “Give it chakra, but not to make it stick.”

“Then to make it what?” She asks, and he taps his chin for a moment, considering.

“Whatever it was, it happened natural. Give it chakra for whatever it’s calling for.”

Sakura sits, sweating and eyes squeezed shut, the leaf in her palm. Five minutes pass, then ten, and then-

Green. Not the whole leaf, but almost half of it, turning fresh. Sakura’s eyes are wide and shocked, even a touch reverent. Sasori has heard about the Senju Chakra, it’s unusual abilities, but it held only promise for him, not a longstanding history. But Sakura- Sakura has grown up in a village that worshipped the man that created it.

“How…” She asks, trailing off. Sasori shrugs.

“Kages tend to have lots of affairs- or lots of offspring, at least. It doesn’t matter how, Sakura- it only matters what you’ll do with it.”

He can see in her eyes that part of her feels indebted to him for pushing her towards this discovery, that she feels like he’s pulled something out of her that no one else would. He doesn’t know if that’s true, but either way, he won’t correct her. It’s nice to feel appreciated, but more importantly, it’s another step to ensuring she _wants_ to continue his legacy.

“Everything.” She whispers, and when his eyebrow twists up in a silent demand for explanation, she gives him a warm, glowing smile that grows stronger with every passing second. “I’m going to do _everything_ with it.”

Sasori feels a flutter of anticipation at that. “I look forward to it.” He tells her, and then they settle in for the long, horrible work to get there.

This discovery is what pushes him, in the end, to begin his meddling in world affairs. Sasori had begun to dislike the idea of leaving Sakura behind, in a village with no appreciation for the talents he was cultivating, and far from where she could surprise him with new ideas and terrible jokes. As much as he wanted Konoha to suffer, he simply couldn’t imagine acquiring Sakura without a fight if there was a war on, and the Mokuton would turn her into something valuable enough to fight for. No, he would need to put a stop to that.

He considers his options, but in the end, the path is clear. Sasori is respected in Suna, but there’s only one person who’s unquestionably feared. Luckily, the boy in question holds an admiration for Sasori that few would understand.

Gaara is, in the end, an artist that Sasori can respect. His bloody ways have already earned himself a spot in the bingo book, and Sasori sees little reason to believe that the boy will not achieve the same kind of immortality for his actions as Sasori plans to. He has little to teach the child- an endless well of chakra and little control is unideal for his skills- but offers something like companionship, which gives him a sway no one else possesses. For now. If things go as planned, Sasori hopes to add another name to the list.

He doesn’t push the boy into it. That would be counterproductive. Instead, he simply passes on word that he’s finally taken on an apprentice.

Gaara was contemplative. Sasori did not waste his time on weaklings. This girl- must be talented. A worthy kill- or maybe an ally, like Sasori? **_Unlikely,_** grumbles Shukaku, but the idea remains. Perhaps Sasori saw an appreciation for destruction in the girl, a special talent for defeat. So Gaara searches for her, and finds her late at night in the furthest of training grounds.

He sees her, lifting a tree from the earth, a twirling unfurling of leaves and fruits and the swoop of the branches growing up to face the sky. He recognizes it as a peach tree, even if he’s never seen one outside of photographs before. It’s beautiful, delicate, and she sits beneath it in exhaustion and he studies her.

 ** _Useless in a fight._** Shukaku points out, and Gaara agrees, but it feels like there’s something worth appreciating in it anyways. She’s done something spectacular, and he feels a kind of awe he doesn’t get from battle scratching up his back.

He spots a creature- a mammal of some sort, native to Konoha and unimportant to Suna’s records of the place- pluck a peach and take a bite. It falls, frothing at the mouth, and twitches on the ground. Sakura’s eyes watch as it does, as entranced as Gaara, and a proud smile graces her lips.

Shukaku says nothing, and Gaara recognizes it as the compliment it is.

He approaches her a few days later, eager to earn her attention the way she’s earned his. Sasori is there, observing, and Gaara is as close to cautious as he gets under the gaze of the girl’s pseudo guardian.

“I’m Sakura, nice to meet you!” She says, and she sticks out a hand. Sasori has told her half-truths and whole ones, of a boy from his village with abilities and a lonely child and anger issues. Gaara takes the hand like a wild animal, prepared for subterfuge and almost hoping for it. Instead, he gets tugged into a hug that freezes him in place, a gentle pat on his back before she pulls back. “You’re practically Sasori’s other apprentice, you know. I think we should be good friends!”

Sasori forgot just how terrible Sakura was at paying attention to dangers, how she’d yelled at him when they first met, and is reminded of it in this moment where her fate is entirely out of his hands. To his relief- and minor shock, even if this is what he’d planned for- Gaara nods, awkwardly, at the words. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks that Sasori has never seen before, and it sends the wheels in his head turning all the faster. He’d hoped for the encouragement of the Kazekage’s son and the monster of the village to help earn her spot, but perhaps he can secure something stronger. _Marriage is useful for truces._

He watches them discuss the best way to kill a large group of opponents, Sakura in theoreticals and Gaara in recollections, and lets himself relax. Sakura had been needing a sparring partner. He’ll just have to remind Gaara that murderous intent isn’t acceptable just yet, not with where Sakura’s abilities are at right now.

It’s not long after that before they’re rushing into something new, desperate as Sasori is to give her every edge, every reason to earn a transfer when he requests it.

He’s no expert on medical techniques, but Chiyo had forced the knowledge of searching for injuries down his throat so often as a child that he could easily perform the test. He’d waited a while to do it, earn more of Sakura’s trust, and was relieved to discover she only had one minor affliction.

“Your left arm is weaker than your right- there’s an issue with the muscle.” He points out, and she glares at her arm fiercely, as if blaming it for every mistake. Sasori considers. It’s the sort of minor injury that people tend to get in their early childhoods, minor detractors that keep them from greatness without them ever realizing it. A second too slow is a second too long in war.

Sakura is, in a sense, his greatest piece of art. He wouldn’t want to send out something imperfect for the records of history.

“I can give you a new one.” He says, and it’s testament to her loyalty that she shows no horror at the idea, only interest.

“A new muscle?” She asks, and he shakes his head.

“A new arm.”

Sakura is no fool- she’s his apprentice, after all, and he would never tolerate idiocy. She knows his specialty lays in puppetry and poisons, not healing or flesh. Still, her hesitance is minor.

“Everything is controlled by chakra- yours would just do so more directly. With your finesse...it could be something truly formidable.”

She blushes under the compliments, but doesn’t shy from them. To deny her abilities would be to deny his instruction in them, and she’d learned quickly that wasn’t allowed.

“I think… it sounds like a good idea, Sasori-kun.”

They share a smile that is all sharpness and excitement and fierceness. It makes Sasori feel proud in a way that has nothing to do with revenge and everything to do with kinship.

Sasori begins work on the arm right away. At first, he intends to make it out of wood- it’s his specialty, after all, and he intends for Sakura’s arm to be his greatest piece short of Sakura herself. But it feels inadequate, and he destroys that model quickly and with extreme prejudice, and turns his attention to other materials.

Sakura is there for the process at times, watching with studious eyes and unabashed fascination. She’s still tasked with only whittling, if that- she’s not one for puppets, regardless of what skills he’s passing on. It’s clear she’s meant to develop something new out of his lessons, and Sasori has no desire to force her into the mold despite that. Still, she likes to work with her hands, and far be it from him to turn away an eager artist, shameful as her burgeoning skills are. So she practices shaving at wooden scraps, and Sasori folds metals and twists clay and smashes old attempts when they fall short of his high expectations.

Finally, finally, he settles on porcelain. It’s Sakura’s idea, in a sense- she asks if she can have something that will be hollow. She’s been thinking, as he works, his clever little student- she’ll be charging the arm with a modified Earth-Style anyways, so the strength of the material is moot. If it’s hollow, she can store things inside. Useful things, for situations that would be dire enough for her arm to be shattered in the first place.

“What would you want in it?” He asks. He’s put weapons in his puppets before, sometimes poisons, but he doubts she’s thinking so small as that.

“Dirt.” She answers, swinging her feet as she sits atop his workshop table and toys with her ideas. “And seeds.” She nods at that, certain, a small grin beginning to build as the idea unfurls. “I could work on them when I’m bored, then. New species, hybrids, mess with their molecular level.”

It’s perfect. He tells her as much. She swings her feet faster in excitement, and for a moment, Sasori feels like a doting big brother who’s going to give her the world. It’s a good feeling, and it gives him the idea.

Doting big brothers give their little sisters dolls, after all. Sakura deserves the very best.

When he finishes it, a perfect model down to the smallest detail, he asks Sakura if she’d like it glossed or made to match her skin. She shoots him a disbelieving look. “Why would I ever try to hide something so pretty?” She asks, and Sasori thinks he’s become addicted to that sense of happy pride that she gives him. The arm is glossed, and set aside until it can be attached.

He’s not good at surgery, but Konoha specializes in it. Of course, soft-hearted as they are, they’d never approve of this sort of modification if it wasn’t a life-threatening situation- but Sasori was so very, very good at poisons. It’s a moment of open trust, devotion on both ends. Sakura has to trust he won’t let her die. Sasori has to realize how much he would dislike if she did.

By the time she’s rushed to the hospital, her left arm is a withered, corroded thing. Green and wrinkled and useless. A training accident, the med nins are informed, and since the girl is the one informing them- with tight, strangled words- they do not stop to question it.

She wakes up with a lightness on her left side, and an empty room. There’s no one on her emergency contacts to call, after all. The stirring of sand lining the windowsill readjusts her opinion- not entirely alone, then.

It’s barely a minute later when Gaara-kun and Sasori-kun are there, in through the window and with a rambunctious sort of energy. She attaches the arm at their quarters, under Sasori’s guidance and Gaara’s watchful eyes. She loved the arm as soon as she saw it, and she marvels at it’s natural movements for hours before she grows used to the weight of it. Sasori-Kun _made it_ for her, just for her, every inch of it a work of art and a sign of devotion to his student, and she loves it for that. Gaara-kun says it’s lovely, likes to clean it for her reverently, and she finds the attention heartwarming.

Thoughts of team seven no longer make her envious. What could they offer that she doesn’t have here, in abundance? What would any of them provide for her, clawed out and unwilling, that her boys would not give willingly, would not steal to give her if they did not have it? Kakashi spoke of comrades, and had left her behind. Sasori-kun had promised only the chance at a more secure future, but had given her a family.

She only sees team seven once as a collective, as opposed to passing each other on the street and pretending not to notice. A part of her is fond of them, at least her fellow genin, so she lets herself slip into her old role as cheerleader and confidant just this once.

“I’ll be seeing you at the exams!” She reassures, and Naruto beams.

 “Cool, cool! You’re gonna cheer for me, right?” He asks, and Sakura laughs.

“Only if you cheer for me.” She replies, and the team pauses in their routine.

“Ah, when would we cheer for you Sakura-chan?” Naruto asks, and Sakura gives them a wide-eyed look of surprise.

“Oh, you weren’t notified? I mean, I had assumed-” She begins, but glancing at Kakashi’s equally confused expression, she realizes that word really hadn’t reached her teammates. “Since I’d tied in the pre-exams, I had the option of a rematch, so long as two jounins put forth the request and Ino took part. I won the rematch, so I get to take part in the last stage, too!”

“Ah.” Kakashi says, because he had known about the exemption but it required far more paperwork than he’d ever want to do for what had always been meant to be a simple lesson for the team. “Good job, Sakura-chan.”

She nods, looking a bit queasy for a moment, before saying, “I’d actually prefer if you didn’t call me that, Kakashi-sensei. It feels a little weird.” She walks away before he can respond. Kakashi isn’t sure what he would’ve said, if she hadn’t. She doesn’t see them again until the exam, and he still hasn’t decided what to call her, to listen to her or not. He still hadn’t managed to ask about her arm, either, the difference noticeable even though he’d had to spot the prosthetic under layers of training garb. He wonders how she got the replacement, if the injury that necessitated it had come from her second shot at the exams. Perhaps this would be the push that finally got her out of the shinobi path, to something safer and more appropriate for Sakura. She wasn’t born into this like the rest of them, and Kakashi still held out hope she’d leave before it was too late for her to turn back.

 

Gaara traces a finger along the porcelain arm, smiling as he can faintly sense the earth kept inside it. His clever teammate, with her endless tricks up her sleeve. He lets his hand wander, drifting to her hair to twirl the locks on his fingers. This shade of pink, Sasori’s red- they really could pass for a family, to the unsuspecting bystander. He likes the thought, lets it soak into his head and block out Shukaku’s rumblings. She’ll fit right in, when she comes to Suna. She’ll be a natural.

Sakura, used to his habits, pays little mind to his wandering fingers and focuses on trying to draw chakra out of the grass below her feet, no more and no less. It’s tricky, more difficult to soak up life than to shove it into the things, but it’s a useful skill and she’s sure she could eventually use it for emergency energy on a mission, if she ever needs it. She sees the beginning of brown to peak out from around her toes and groans, carefully trying to reverse the effect to form only the outlines. They’re both waiting for the final exam to start, unsubtle in their bloodlust to everyone but Sakura’s former teammates.

Gaara-kun is up first, fighting Sasuke, and Gaara is perfectly punctual. Sasuke is not, and Gaara is rather put off that his match is delayed when he’s been dying for a good fight. His father looks on, furious and put out, as the Hokage attempts to sooth his anger. Gaara wants to laugh- he knows more than half of that consternation is because Gaara withdraw from his part of the invasion, crucial enough that the entire scheme was postponed. His father was not used to refusals, but Sasori was clever and had made promises that Gaara would intend for him to keep. The sight of Sakura in the sand, tanned and happy and by his side, covered in the blood of their enemies and a joint bingo-book entry, anything would be worth that. Anything. He still wishes he could eviscerate a leaf nin before the end of this thing.

They sit through Shikamaru’s fight, strategic and interesting, on opposite sides of the stadium and only barely paying attention. Sasuke finally arrives, touches down in the stadium the confidence of a jounin, and Gaara is across from him just as quickly. Things are silent, for a moment, and then the chill is shattered by Sakura.

 “Kick his ass, Gaara-kun!” She yells, clutching the seat in front of her, and he smiles at her far too widely even as the Konoha genin around her shoot her dubious looks. She doesn’t bother to see how Sasuke reacts, because Gaara is right there, relying on her for emotional support and she’s happy to provide. “You can do it!”

His focus shifts to his opponent. The match is a long one, closer than Sakura or her boys would like, but for everyone else it doesn’t count as _close._ Sasuke loses, and lives, as a courtesy. A pity he won’t be awake for a few days, since it means he misses Sakura’s match. Gaara is on edge for most of the day, fighting Shukaku’s demands to go find his opponent and finish the job, or take on someone knew, _get them kill them kill them all,_ because if he does that he won’t get to watch Sakura fight. He very much wants to watch Sakura fight.

She’s meant to fight a boy named Neji. He says things, idiotic prattling that Sasori and Sakura ignore and Gaara never notices in the first place, about fate and futures and worthless civilians with bleak prospects. Sasori is ashamed to say he twitches at those words, barely but enough. Nobody insults his apprentice. He can only hope Sakura deals out an appropriate punishment for the bastard.

She certainly does.

The boy manages to land a few hits, but when he aims for her porcelain arm, Sakura laughs and lets the fabric covering it be turn apart instead. He was following the chakra paths and hadn’t bothered to pay attention to the obvious, and his fingers pay the price, bruised from smashing into her reinforced porcelain as opposed to soft flesh like he’d expected.

He has to fight with his weaker arm, then, and misses more than he hits. Sakura is able to unblock what he hits as soon as he manages to mess with her chakra flow, rendering his technique ineffective. If he focused on physical damage, perhaps he would have a chance, but-

Neji had learned a particular style, and never bothered to differentiate. He was paying for it now. Sakura was joyful in it, gleeful at a good fight where her opponent could try his hardest and not kill her for it. She let him keep chasing her, backing away and then darting forward to land blows on his sides, before she finally gets enough distance to use her favorite weapon.

It wasn’t necessary, to win, but if ever there was a time to show off, it was now. She had to do this well for Sasori-kun and Gaara-kun. _And for me,_ she thinks, and she flashes through the signs breezily. She was still too slow at this for a standard battle, but it would do for now.

Then, in front of every hidden village representative and almost all of Konoha’s elite, a little civilian girl with only one arm sent vines slithering up, out, and around the boy. One anbu in particular felt his heart stutter, but a shocked hush fell across the entire stadium.

The mokuton.

The girl cackled. “How’d I do, Sasori-kun?” She called out eagerly, and the reply from the stands came out delighted.

“Wonderfully.” He informs her, and she preens at the praise. He considered it a suitable impression made.

Her transfer to Suna the following month was contested by four people. Unfortunately for them, the Kazekage had died rather suddenly, and _someone_ had to step into the role. Someone respected. Someone good at manipulation. Someone with some sway over the hidden village’s greatest weapon.

Sasori enjoyed the position, the power it afforded him, and the staying power it added to his name. But mostly, he liked the demands he could make that Konoha would have to comply with, if they wanted to keep the charade of peace going a little longer. Sasori did not mind the wait. He had an apprentice to train, after all, and her wedding to plan. _They really do grow up so fast,_ he thinks. The name Hatake is left off the invitation sheet entirely, and he barely notices. He still rubs it in the man’s face every chance he gets on diplomatic excursions.

Sasori never promised to be a good person. Just a very good teacher.

**Author's Note:**

> the original idea for this was supposed to be a super long and badass fic about sakura's descent into grey morality and stuff, but then i was like Nah. This ones gonna be short and SILLY. and OP. and FUN! So heres sakura, getting to grow up strong and cool and powerful under the guidance of a heart-of-bronze killer with aspirations. does that growing up happen in like, two months? yes. its more fun that way. (and funny to picture that reunion from the other end, considering just how many visible changes there are.) 
> 
> essentially the idea is that sasori decides to stick to his whole "legacy in the name" thing and jump to the obvious conclusion of that (instead of trying to become an immortal puppet): a protege! sakura is a great protege, at least partially bc shes super desperate for attention and affection and would climb mountains for scraps of that.  
> the arm is bc its cool and i like it and its fun to draw, so there. 
> 
> sakura's eventual Final OP Form would essentially be able to destroy entire crops and natural life by sucking the chakra from them. she could bring a nation to its knees with a casual stroll through it's countryside, if she wanted. Instead, she and gaara both get into gardening and providing suna very vaulable crops. But sasori always brings her with him on diplomatic stuff, you know, to keep other kages in line. Behave, Or Else.


End file.
